Rule 52
by Proseac
Summary: In the aftermath of an unthinkable tragedy, the team struggle to come to terms with their grief...and how to deal with their new reality. WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH! Spoilers up to 9x1 "Nature of the Beast".
1. Introduction

**Title:** Rule 52**  
Characters: **Tony, Tim, Ziva, Vance, Dr. Rachel Cranston**  
Ratings: **PG**  
Notes/Warnings: **AU - **Major character death!** Spoilers up to 9x1 "Nature of the Beast"**  
Summary: **In the aftermath of an unthinkable tragedy, the team struggle to come to terms with their grief...and how to deal with their new reality.

A/N: This was written for **K9Lasko** for the 2013 White Elephant Exchange on NFA Community. The prompt was:

**_Four things they regretted telling Tony (and one thing they didn't tell him, and regretted.)_**

The story is 9 chapters, and I'll be posting in instalments ('cos I'm evil like that.) Please heed the warnings.

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**INTRODUCTION**

"You should know better than to leave your door unlocked in this day and age, Agent Gibbs. You never know who might walk in on you."

His arm froze at the familiar yet unwelcome voice on the steps behind him, and he gripped the chisel tightly against the wood. A light touch was what was required for the task at hand, but with this interruption it was no longer a chisel that he needed. His Sig lay tantalizingly on the workbench, not five feet away. Instinct struggled with practicality: reaching for it would be suicide. Then again, NOT reaching for it was likely to produce pretty much the same result. Might as well go down fighting.

Oo-rah…

They'd been trying to track down this bastard for weeks, and now he'd shown up at Gibbs' own doorstep. The irony was not lost on him; his own basement was about to become a crime scene, and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. Game over. The best he could hope for was to bring the bastard down with him.

He took a calming breath, spun around and chucked the chisel at Marsden's head, buying him a couple of seconds to reach for his weapon. Three muffled shots rang out, then two more, louder and slightly higher in pitch.

The echo of a bullet ricocheting against a steel beam drew the attention of Princess, the scrawny little diva chihuahua his next-door neighbour called the family pet. Moments later, a light went on in an upstairs window across the street. Just as abruptly, darkness returned.

"Stupid dog."

"Go back to sleep, honey. It's just that damned raccoon in the garbage cans again."

A slow, thick trickle of deep red oozed across the concrete floor, seeking egress…

TBC


	2. Vance

**Many thanks to those who have reviewed/favourited this story so far. FYI, the rest is nothing like the first chapter... that was just a set-up! LOL**

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**VANCE**

A bombing at the Navy Yard, resulting in numerous deaths and serious injuries… the Director of Mossad murdered, along with his own wife, _in his own house_… and now this. So much for the oath he'd sworn to protect and serve. Leon Vance hadn't felt this helpless since that day he'd sat holed up with Eli in that Amsterdam safe house. He now sported a few wrinkles, a bit of grey at the temples, and a slightly wider girth, but little else had changed. He was merely a glorified desk jockey; that title on the door conveyed little more than his entitlement to the highest salary in the building. And that wasn't saying much, either.

Vance sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, trying to take in the reality of the phone call he'd just received from DiNozzo. The agent's voice had been surprisingly calm, considering the horrifying scene he'd just stumbled upon in his boss' basement. Oh sure, he knew Tony practically worshiped Gibbs, and was no doubt now dealing with his own private hell. The fact that the grizzled Marine gunny had taken Marsden down with him was cold comfort. And yet DiNozzo's composure showed the mark of a seasoned agent who knew how to manage his emotions in a crisis.

Vance knew he had to do the same. The one thing over which he actually had control was the performance of his agents. The manner of Gibbs' death was likely to cause shock waves throughout the Agency, but more than that, it would create a vortex into which would get sucked all the the MCRT members' doubts, fears and insecurities. With tensions high both on the domestic and foreign fronts, stability and continuity were vital. There would be a time to grieve. Right now though, he needed to put a plan in place to ensure that the elite NCIS team could weather this crisis and return to full functionality as quickly as possible.

First order of business: psych evals for all, and especially for DiNozzo.

It seemed obvious to the Director that the MCRT should remain intact, and that Tony should succeed Gibbs as team leader. Vance would not have thought so even a year ago; but Harper Dearing's brazen Navy Yard attack had brought things into sharper focus. These people put their lives on the line on a daily basis. For the Navy. For their country. For HIM. He had to start thinking of them as more than chess pieces to be positioned and deployed strategically in various configurations. As he had worked on rebuilding his shaken Agency, he'd resolved to get to know his agents better, and had been reading through their personnel files for deeper insights. Not much had surprised him, until he got to DiNozzo's file…

Vance had always figured himself an expert at reading people, but after digesting Jenny Shepard's laudatory notes on DiNozzo's temporary leadership of the team six years ago, he was no longer so certain. The man described in those few pages was practically a stranger to him, he realized. Yes, he'd read through the agent's file when he first took over as NCIS Director, but this time he paid more attention to the details; read the performance reviews more thoroughly. Presumably, there had to be a reason Director Shepard and Gibbs had both thought so highly of him. Over the next several months, that reason had started to become apparent, as he'd begun paying closer attention to the Senior Field Agent.

It was no secret that DiNozzo was incredibly observant - almost nothing got past him. He had a knack for knitting seemingly disparate and unconnected facts together and recognizing patterns; patterns that led to solid leads, that in turn led to cold, hard facts they could use to identify and nail criminals. Yes, he played the fool at times, but Vance was beginning to see past that veneer and discover the mature, clever and sometimes brilliant mind underneath.

There was nothing in DiNozzo's file to explain why he had turned down the Rota assignment, but as Leon rifled through the pages in that section, he came upon a note Jenny had added to the dossier…

_I have concerns about Agent DiNozzo's readiness to accept what is effectively a demotion with the return of Agent Gibbs as MCRT Team Leader. Although he claims to be making the readjustment without difficulty, I have observed a significant increase in tension between Agent DiNozzo and other members of the team. I have requested that Agent Gibbs address this at the earliest opportunity. _

There were no further notations on the matter to be found in the file; nothing to indicate that anything had been resolved on that front. It was a red flag. He'd have to make sure Dr. Cranston explored that angle in her interviews. If there was still bad blood between these agents over that shakeup, those old wounds were bound to be re-opened with DiNozzo taking the reins once again.

TBC


	3. Tony

A/N: Thank you again for all your kind reviews! I'm very glad people are giving it a chance, despite my killing off everyone's favourite former Marine!

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**TONY**

"We've gotta stop meeting like this, Doc," Tony smirked. Rachel Cranston eyed him carefully. He was a master at deflection, but he knew from his last encounter with the psychologist that she was well aware of it. He'd do just about anything to avoid dealing with what was really bothering him, and that meant Cranston would only push harder. This was going to be tedious.

"Really, Agent DiNozzo? You seemed to find it helpful the last time."

Tony bit his lip and let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, well…last time, I had amnesia," he said wistfully, gazing out of the conference room window across the Anacostia river. A bit of amnesia would be good right about now, he mused.

He'd been put on administrative leave; they all had. It irked him that he'd been dragged back to the Navy Yard so soon. They hadn't even yet buried their fallen leader. Why the hell couldn't this wait until after the funeral, at least?

He reached for his coffee cup; it took every ounce of concentration he had to keep his hand from shaking, and he knew it was a futile effort. Cranston could see through him - of that he was certain. _Damn you, Kate. You had to go and tell your sister all about me, didn't you?_

"What do you want to talk about, Tony?"

He pulled his hand back abruptly. "You mean, I have a choice?" he muttered dubiously.

"Of course."

"Ok…how 'bout those Redskins?" He shot her his most winning smile, and reached once more for the coffee cup, taking a long, deliberate sip. The response was about what he'd expected.

"I'm not much of a sports fan, myself," she smiled. "Neither was Gibbs, was he?"

It figured that she'd slide that in there. These head-gamers were so predictable. And he was ready for it. "You might be surprised, Doc. Gibbs was really into baseball." He fixed his gaze on her, so that she couldn't accuse him of not making eye contact. Years of undercover work tended to come in handy at times like this. He was just playing another role - the unemotional, weathered cop who'd walked in on countless gut-churning crime scenes in his day. Gibbs' basement was just another crime scene.

_You just keep telling yourself that, Anthony._

"Look. I get it. I know you want me to talk about what I saw. You think I can't handle it - "

"Why do you say that, Tony?" She cocked her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. He swallowed hard, realizing he'd played right into her hands. He was off his game.

"Because that's what every shrink I've ever talked to has assumed. I've been a cop for close to 20 years. I've seen shit you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. And I've been through plenty of psych evals. This may come as a surprise to you, Doc, but this isn't the worst crime scene I've ever had to work. After awhile, you kind of become immune to it. I remember McGee's first crime scene," he grinned. "The Probie lost his lunch, AND his breakfast…good times!"

She cast him an enigmatic smile. He could tell she wasn't buying any of it.

"Are you worried about Agent McGee?" Wow. Didn't see that one coming. He thought for a moment.

"Nah. He'll be ok. He's been a field agent for 9 years now. McGee's good." He rested his chin in his hand and sighed. "He just needs time…"

"And what about you? Do you think you need some time, Agent DiNozzo? After all, as you say, McGee's a veteran by now. But this wasn't like any other crime scene, was it?"

His face hardened. "No, Doctor Cranston, it wasn't. Although, it did kinda remind me of that rooftop…" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and he bit his lip. "Oh God. I'm sorry, I…"

Cranston barely reacted. Her eyes softened, and she tilted her head, blinking away a bit of unwanted moisture. She took a breath to collect herself, and placed her hand gently over his. "It's all right, Tony. I know you loved her too," she whispered.

This wasn't the Rachel Cranston he was used to - the one so much like Kate, who would push and push, and go on pushing, until he snapped at her. She seemed softer around the edges than he remembered. They stared at each other for altogether too long. Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Ordinarily he could outlast anyone in this type of stand-off, but he found himself longing for her to fill the void of silence. Mercifully, she changed the subject.

"I understand Director Vance has offered you Gibbs' team. That's quite an honour."

He swallowed hard. "Yes." And it was. But in truth, he didn't want it, and he had no intention of taking it. No way was he going to admit that to the shrink, though, lest she try to read all kinds of things into it. She'd get suspicious if he didn't elaborate - Tony wasn't Gibbs, as his colleagues had never missed an opportunity to remind him, so the 'functional mute' act wouldn't cut it here. "I have one week to give him my answer."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're still thinking about it, then." He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. What would she read into _that_?

"Yeah. It's a big decision." He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Is it? You've led them before; by all accounts, very successfully. Director Shepard was very impressed with your performance. You've said things in the past that suggest to me that you regret not taking the Rota assignment. So, why the hesitation now?"

Tony's face went blank; not because he wanted to avoid the question, but because he honestly didn't have an answer. He shrugged. "I thought this was supposed to be trauma counselling. What does this have to do with Gibbs' death?"

"Maybe more than you think," she responded cryptically. "Why do you think Gibbs left you in charge when he left for Mexico?"

"I've wondered that myself more than once," he muttered. "'You'll do'. That's what he said. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, is it?"

Cranston laughed. "Gibbs never was good at sharing his feelings." Then her face turned serious. "But I happen to know he once described you as 'the best young agent' he'd ever worked with."

Tony bit his lip. "Would've been nice if he'd told _me_ that…then again, I guess I always knew he liked me anyway…and he wouldn't have kept me around as long as he did if he wasn't happy with my work…he was good to me…I can't complain…"

"Of course you can. You have every right to. Gibbs was a top-notch NCIS Agent. But his supervisory skills left a lot to be desired." It was a shock to hear her speak so bluntly about a man who'd died in the line of duty less than 48 hours earlier. Tony opened his mouth to defend his boss, but she held up a hand. "I know what you're going to say, Tony. He was a Marine, and he led like a Marine. And his team responded to that. But NCIS is a civilian agency, and military tactics aren't always appropriate in a civilian environment." She smiled. "You understood that. When you led the team, you took a different approach. Tim and Ziva responded to that."

He snorted. "Yeah, they responded, all right. It wasn't until later that I learned the truth."

"Which was…?"

"That they had no respect for me as a leader whatsoever." He ran his hands over his face, unsure where this burst of emotion was coming from, and not entirely pleased to be spilling his guts so freely. Well, he'd started down the path, and there was no way Cranston would let it go now, so he might as well just keep going. "They followed my lead when I was in charge, but once Gibbs came back, it was as if I'd been an impostor; as if I'd tried to _steal_ the team away from him." He thrust himself back against the chair so hard that it slammed against the window ledge. "Not going there again, Doc."

"So…in actual fact, you already know what your answer is going to be."

"Yeah," he admitted. "But I guess I didn't realize until now what the reason was. Thanks, Doc." He stood up. "You know, you're damned good at this. Do you give lessons? 'Cos I'm all about upping my game, and I could use a few of your tactics in my arsenal." He didn't wait for an answer, but swept around the conference table and reached for the door.

"Agent DiNozzo…"

His hand hovered over the door handle, and he turned, grimacing, wanting nothing more than to escape the inquisition chamber. "Yeah?"

"Rota was six years ago. A lot's happened since then. I wouldn't be too hasty in your decision. Things aren't always as they seem."

He shrugged. "Why don't you ask them, Doc?" And with that, he was gone.


	4. McGee

**A/N Thanks once again for all your kind reviews. Thanks also for the favourites/follows! The Inquisition continues...**

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**MCGEE**

Timothy McGee opened the conference room door gingerly and peered inside.

"I don't bite, Agent McGee," Cranston smiled up at him. He licked his lips, and entered, shutting the door slowly behind him. But he didn't sit down. His eyes swept the room as if he were surveying a crime scene. There was a fresh bottle of water on the table in what was obviously meant to be his seat. Cranston was flipping slowly through a file, and sipping her own H2O. It looked like a personnel file. HIS personnel file. A small recording device was discreetly positioned at her side, and she had an iPad in front of her in a case with a keyboard. He wouldn't have pegged her as especially tech-savvy, and found the fact unnerved him even more.

"Uh, is this going to take long, Doctor? I need to go through all of the boss' e-mails, just in case…" he trailed off. It sounded even more lame when he said it out loud. What was the point of stalling? He flopped down into the chair, and ripped the lid off the water bottle, chugging down one third of it in one go.

"That sounds like a job someone else should be doing right now, Agent McGee. Aren't you supposed to be on administrative leave?" She tilted her head down and looked up at him, with a familiar coy smile. God, she looked so much like Kate. Which only made him think about the aftermath from another deadly shooting, the loss of another friend. He hadn't had to attend THAT crime scene until after the body had been whisked away. By the time he'd got up the nerve to see her, Kate had been all cleaned up, with nothing more than a little dab of mortician's putty where the bullet had entered her skull. No such luck this time. No full metal jacket for Gibbs. No reprieve for poor little Timmy. Nine years older, experienced and steady, but walking down those steps into that bloody basement was something that would leave a permanent scar on his psyche.

He supposed that was why he was here.

"I'd rather be working." He pursed his lips and played with the label on the bottle.

"Tell me about the crime scene." He noticed her casually reach to turn on the recorder. Sticking his tongue in his cheek and closing his eyes, he willed himself to return to that moment.

"There was blood everywhere…not just blood." He gazed up at the ceiling. What on earth good was it supposed to do, reliving all this? She didn't speak. He hated dead air, and he hated the fact that she wanted him to fill it. She cocked her head to one side…waiting. His eyes darted at her, then away again. "Brain matter."

"This isn't the first time you've witnessed something like that, is it, Agent McGee?" She'd read his file; she knew the answer to that question already, he felt certain.

"No. But then again, the victim wasn't someone I knew, and worked with for nine years. Someone I looked up to. I learned so much from him…" He took another gulp of water. "His blood was on the boat." His mind was whirling, seemingly disconnected images coming into view and then receding again just as quickly, in a never-ending slide show. "Tony didn't even flinch."

"Does that bother you?" Why had she seized on that particular comment? He glanced at her in mild alarm.

"No," he muttered in protest. "No. Someone had to take control down there. It sure as hell wasn't going to be me. No. He was good. We wouldn't have got through it if it weren't for Tony." The truth was, the only thing that had kept Timothy McGee working that crime scene had been the desire not to let Tony down. If the SFA could get through it, so could he. He owed him, and Gibbs, that much at least.

It was a strange relationship that he had developed over the years with DiNozzo. He'd survived the hazing phase, all the while feeling resentful and put-upon. If he was honest, though, none of it had ever been malicious. They were pranks, nothing more. And he would never forget the night Tony had stopped by his apartment to cheer him up after he'd shot that cop, and shared his most embarrassing moment with the Probie. He guessed that was the moment he'd begun to count Tony as friend and confidant, rather than simply as the pest who wouldn't leave him alone. He was still a pest, but he was a pest who _cared_. Over the years, Tim had occasionally conveniently forgotten that fact.

"He's a strong leader," she replied. Tim nodded, smiling softly. "You haven't always felt that way though, have you, Tim?" He frowned and shook his head, but didn't dare look her in the eyes.

"No, that's not true. He ticks me off sometimes, but that's just Tony being Tony. He's always been great at his job."

"Have you ever told him that?"

McGee chortled. "Are you kidding me? Tony's got such a big ego, the last thing he needs is someone telling him how great he is. We'd never hear the end of it." She wasn't laughing. He studied her face, noting a tinge of sadness in it, and suddenly felt his face flush. "Actually, I did kind of tell him the opposite once."

"Oh?" She leaned forward, and took a sip of her water. It wasn't a memory he cared to re-live, but it was better than talking about brain matter and blood and the boss lying there breathless and cold with his eyes still open.

"It was after Gibbs came back from Mexico. Tony was baiting me, calling me Probie again. Pissing me off, you know, like he does. So I made a point of reminding him that he'd only been _temporary_ team leader, and that he only got it because Gibbs quit. He asked me if I was saying he didn't deserve his own team, and I said he wouldn't still be here if he did." He swallowed hard. "I was just trying to push back, you know? Give as good as I got. After it came out, I realized I was out of line, but I thought he'd just laugh it off, like he usually did. But all he said was, 'Maybe you're right,' and then he just walked away. I was caught off guard, and I didn't know how to fix it. How do you take something like that back? A week or two later, everything went back to normal anyway, so I guess he forgave me. We just never talked about it again." He slouched in his chair, and tilted his head back.

"You never apologized."

"No." He licked his lips. "I should have. But that's six years ago. We're good now."

She was typing something into her iPad, and he craned his neck, attempting to read the upside-down screen. Cranston chuckled, pulling the tablet closer to her.

"You mentioned the blood on the boat. Why is that significant?" He supposed it was too much to ask that she'd let him get away with just talking about Tony all morning.

"I don't know. It's just…Gibbs is always building boats. It's a part of who he is. _Was_," he corrected himself. "They were his masterpieces. He put his heart and soul into them, spent ages sanding them down and finishing them perfectly. To see it tainted like that, is just…" Oh God, he was losing it. His nostrils flared, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to stay dry. Silently, she pushed a box of tissues across to him. He leaned forward and took one, making a show of blowing his nose, as opposed to wiping his eyes. A moment or two later, when he had recovered his composure, he glanced sideways at her. "I really need to get to those e-mails." He stood, and reached for the door.

"Didn't Gibbs used to burn all his boats?" Strange question! He turned back to her.

"Yeah. That's because he named them after his ex-wives." McGee looked at her quizzically.

"Maybe the team should burn this one."

His eyes were still glistening, but the sadness had disappeared from them. He nodded approval. "I think the boss would've liked that. We'd have to ask Jackson, though. He's the executor, so I guess he gets to say what happens to all of Gibbs' stuff."

She nodded. "Why don't you suggest it to the others? If that blood bothered you that much, it probably affected them too." It occurred to him that Cranston was manipulating the situation, trying to give the team a reason to talk to each other about what they'd seen. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

They'd all been very tight-lipped since filing their reports to Vance – especially Tony, who had retreated to his apartment the moment their administrative leave had been ordered, refusing to answer either the phone or the front door. Both he and Ziva had tried, but the SFA was incommunicado. They'd eventually decided maybe it was best to leave it until after the funeral.

McGee had passed Tony in the hall outside the restroom this morning, but not a word had been exchanged. DiNozzo seemed to be in a daze, barely even acknowledging Tim's presence. Then again, maybe that was the way he himself appeared to everyone else, so who was he to judge? It was all rather surreal – sort of like a never-ending out-of-body experience - and he suspected that reality wouldn't sink in until after Gibbs was laid to rest.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Maybe I will. Thanks."

Well, thank goodness that was over with. He leaned against the back of the door, and let out a heavy sigh, just as a rather disgruntled-looking Ziva David rounded the corner and headed his way. She looked him up and down with a critical eye, then furrowed her brows and wrinkled her nose.

"Bad?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Waste of time?" She reached for the door handle half-heartedly.

He thought a moment. "No. Actually, it was ok. Let's go for coffee when you're done. I'll wait for you out front."

She nodded, gathered herself, and opened the door with determination.

TBC


	5. Ziva

**So glad everyone is still with me on this ride! This chapter marks the beginning of the "all-nighter" I pulled to meet the June 30th posting deadline... I'm rather amazed it's even coherent. :)**

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**ZIVA**

"I do not understand why we have to do this. Why can you not just let us each grieve in our own way?" She had decided the best approach with Cranston was to come out swinging. It backfired. Horribly.

"_Are_ you grieving, Ziva?" Cranston's face was hard, her eyes narrowed and she was leaning forward in an almost confrontational pose of her own.

So taken aback was Ziva by the response, that she had no immediate answer. She couldn't even really process the question. Why would anyone ask that? Of course she was grieving! Gibbs had been more of a father to her than her own Abba ever was. The memory of Eli's death, and her intense reaction to it, returned to her then, and suddenly the question did make sense.

She hadn't cried.

They'd all worked the crime scene on autopilot, filed their reports and gone home. She imagined Tony curled up on his sofa with a bottle of Macallan 18 and a stack of DVDs, drowning his sorrows. McGee had probably gone to that laser tag place and unloaded his anger and grief on some unsuspecting teenagers. And she?

She'd gone to the gym and knocked the hell out of a punching bag until her knuckles bled. She'd got it out of her system. And now, she was fine.

Except that she wasn't.

"I do not know what you expect me to say. I am angry. The man I looked up to the most is dead. When my father died, I was able to pursue his killer; to have revenge. But the man who did this is already dead. I am…frustrated."

Cranston tipped her head, jutting out her chin and looking askance at the former Mossad agent. "I think you're a bit more than frustrated, Agent David. You and Agent Gibbs had a special bond. You killed your own brother to save his life...in that same room." She took a sip of water. "What went through your mind when you walked into that basement two days ago?"

Ziva steeled herself. "It was a crime scene. I treated it as such. There is no other way to get through it." She took a long pull on the fresh bottle of water Cranston had put in front of her. "Why do you mention Ari? He has nothing to do with this."

"I think your colleagues might disagree." Cranston eyed her carefully. "You see yourself as the strong one." Ziva nodded, unsure where she was being led. "The logical corollary is that you see McGee and DiNozzo as weak."

She shook her head vigorously. "Untrue."

"Tell me...what would Tony have done in your place? Would he have killed his own brother for the sake of gaining someone's trust?"

Ziva drummed her fingers on the table. She was at a loss to understand how this line of questioning could possibly be helpful. "Tony does not have a brother," she snapped.

The psychologist smiled. "Metaphorically speaking, then. What if it were McGee he was ordered to kill?" She rifled through the file in front of her, stopping when she got to one particular page. "Or, what if he had to make the call whether to order a kill-shot in a hostage situation?" Ziva stiffened. She bit her lip, silently mulling over the events of that day, seven years ago, in Kody Meyers' high school classroom. "What does it mean to be strong, Ziva? Does it mean, having the _cojonas_ to order someone dead?"

She bristled. "When you have orders, you follow them. When you are the one _giving_ the orders, more discernment is obviously required. Tony did well that day. And he did well two days ago. Are you suggesting I think otherwise?"

"I'm suggesting that you haven't always thought so. And considering that he's very likely going to be stepping into Agent Gibbs' shoes, I think it's an important question to consider."

Ziva lowered her eyes. "Perhaps I should not have spoken that way to him. He was under tremendous strain," she conceded. "When I first arrived at NCIS, I saw Tony and McGee as amateurs. I did not respect their abilities, because they had different skills than those I had encountered and admired in the Mossad." She looked up at Cranston, blinking. "Tony is a good and capable leader," she said softly.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate knowing you feel that way, Agent David." The psychologist started typing into her iPad, which put her subject even more on edge.

Ziva licked her lips. "I do not understand why you are asking about Tony. Are we not here to discuss Gibbs?"

"No. Actually, we're here to discuss _you_, Ziva." She closed the file and looked up at her subject. "You seem to equate being strong with not feeling anything. In the psychology biz we call that 'detachment'. That's a protective mechanism, but over time it can sometimes lead to instability." Ziva took another swig of water, trying to appear nonchalant even as the words hit home. "It was expected of you in the Mossad. But you're not Mossad anymore. You don't need to keep those walls around you. It isn't healthy." The former Israeli shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but remained mute, avoiding Cranston's gaze. "This is the second significant loss you've suffered in a fairly short space of time. Your coping strategy seems to be to push others away. It's understandable to want some time alone to process what's happened. But don't kid yourself into thinking that means you're over it. What you're actually doing is delaying the inevitable. And it may come out at an inopportune moment. Better to lose control when it's socially acceptable to do so, don't you think?"

At that, Ziva looked up, startled. The thought had never occurred to her that she might not be able to retain her stoic demeanor indefinitely. In the past, she had acted out physically, her co-workers and associates serving as convenient, if unwitting targets. That was why she'd rushed back to Israel to bury her father – she had no desire to take out her anger on her NCIS family. There was only so much her knuckles could take, and now there was nowhere left to run.

Cranston stood up and began to walk around the conference room table. "Maybe killing your brother wasn't as much a show of strength as you seem to remember it. After you shot Ari, you sat beside his body. You sang to him. You cried. Right there in that basement. You barely knew Agent Gibbs at that time, and yet you felt secure enough with him to let him witness your pain, even though your training told you not to feel anything." She stopped next to Ziva's chair, both hands on the table, and leaned in close. "You're not bound by those rules anymore. Keep that in mind."

She returned to her seat, packed up her iPad and files into a briefcase, and breezed out the door. Ziva found herself alone in the conference room, shaken and unsure of what had just transpired. She needed to compare notes with McGee – this was the strangest interview she'd ever been subjected to.

TBC


	6. Twenty Minutes Later

**A/N: I'm blown away by the positive reception this story is getting! As wonderful as it is, I don't think it's enough to convince me that all-nighter writing sprints are a good idea generally. :D**

**Thank you so much yet again to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited the story, and especially to those "guest" reviewers to whom I'm unable to respond individually. You guys make it all worthwhile!**

* * *

**TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

Ziva sat with McGee in the busy coffee shop a few blocks down from NCIS Headquarters, watching him carefully pick off the sprinkles from a doughnut. He hadn't said a word for the past five minutes. Myriad casual conversations melded into a low hum in the background, occasionally interspersed by cackles of laughter from a middle-aged woman in the corner, wearing slightly more makeup than Ziva would have thought necessary or advisable. It was a maddening noise, and finally she could take it no longer.

"McGee! This was your idea. Do you not want to talk?"

"Huh?" Tim gave her a confused look. "About what?"

Ziva slapped the back of his head.

"Hey! What was that for?" He frowned, then took a bite of his now-naked confection. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, wiping a crumb from his chin. "Like I said, it wasn't too bad. She gave me a good idea, actually. We should burn Gibbs' boat."

Ziva shook her head in bewilderment. "I do not know what you are talking about, McGee. What sort of questions did she ask you?"

"You know, the usual stuff, what was the crime scene like, how am I coping, that sort of thing...She also asked me what I thought about Tony as a leader."

"Hmmm. Me too," she nodded. Tim cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, anticipating more from his partner. Instead, Ziva took a sip of her coffee, and turned it back on him. "And what did you say?"

McGee pursed his lips. "She kind of reminded me that I gave him a hard time the last time he was in charge." He looked up at her. "I wasn't the only one..."

She didn't appreciate the comment, but she couldn't very well argue with it. "Tony cannot take a joke," she fired back, defensively. "He is a merciless tease, but the moment someone pushes back, he gets upset."

McGee shook his head. "No, Ziva. That's just it. I _wasn't_ teasing. I took it too far." He sipped his coffee, and sighed. "I seem to have a knack for sticking my foot in my mouth when it comes to Tony. Remember when Director Shepard was killed? You guys had just come back from working _that_ horrible crime scene, and what're the first words I said to him? _'I saw you two went swimming.'_ What the hell was _that_? No wonder he figured I was implying he'd screwed up. I was only trying to ease the tension a bit, but it was SO the wrong thing to say just then. I don't know what I was thinking." He laced his fingers and rested his forehead against them.

"Do not be so hard on yourself, McGee," Ziva chided. "You also told him it was not his fault."

"Yeah, and we both know how seriously he took _that_ piece of reassurance. Didn't you find him later that night down in Autopsy, drinking up Ducky's stash?"

She bit her lip. "Yes." She thought for a moment. "You think he is blaming himself again now."

Tim raised an eyebrow in an unspoken 'Don't you?'. "He hasn't said one word to me since we left Gibbs' basement. I'm worried."

"Tim, how could he possibly have done anything to prevent this? None of us could. He is not psychic."

"No, but he does rely on his gut, just like Gibbs did. And his gut failed him this time."

"Gibbs' gut failed him too," Ziva pointed out. She thought back once more to the stand-off at that Quantico high school, when McGee had accidentally called Tony 'boss'. _'Doesn't make you Gibbs!'_ she had chortled gleefully. She winced at the memory. All Tony had ever wanted was to be like the former Marine gunny. There were worse things to which a man could aspire. Much worse. Why had they so begrudged him that?

"We should talk to him," McGee decided, pulling back from the table.

Ziva's first instinct was to leave it alone. She understood Tony's desire for solitude; in fact, she shared it. And it wasn't as if they hadn't both already made futile attempts at communication with DiNozzo since the murder. But had Cranston not just urged her to reach out to her teammates? And if she was completely honest, she too was worried.

She rose from the table. "He will not let us in," she pointed out.

McGee gave her a sidelong glance. "When has _that_ ever stopped you?"

TBC


	7. Tony2

**A/N: This chapter contains the scene that first popped into my head when I read K9Lasko's prompt. I hope I did it justice.**

* * *

**TONY**

It was weird, having to unlock the front door.

All these years, any time he'd needed advice, or even just an outlet to vent, he'd been able to just walk right in, grab a beer out of the fridge and chill with his boss. Gibbs had taken the phrase "open-door policy" to a new extreme. And that, in the end, had been his downfall.

Jackson had asked Tony to handle the estate. Named in the will as alternate executor, DiNozzo had reluctantly agreed; he suspected Gibbs had only selected his father as a courtesy anyway. He sat on the top step, gazing down mournfully at the bloodied boat. A hint of sawdust played in his nostrils, and he could've sworn he could still hear the _swish-swish_ of the chisel against the wood.

How many hours he had spent in this room, Tony couldn't say. It dawned on him that he was not only mourning Gibbs, but also the loss of this refuge from the world. He surveyed the space; there was more of value here than anywhere else in the house. All those hand tools had to be worth money. He made a mental note to get them appraised. It wouldn't do to let them go for less than their full market value.

He'd have to clean the blood off the floor first, though.

He took a deep breath, stood, and descended the remaining stairs, retrieving the bottle from underneath the workbench and tipping a small quantity of amber liquid into a mug that happened to be at hand. He downed it in one gulp, sat down on a stool, and pulled a weathered #10 envelope from his pocket, slitting it open with the knife from his belt. Rule 9. Just one of the many useful things Gibbs had taught him over the years.

He hesitated, staring at the front of the envelope. It read, simply, "Tony - Rule 52". It had appeared on his desk one day, a few days after Mike Franks' funeral, courtesy of Ben the mail boy, in an inter-office envelope. A sticky note on the front commanded that it not be opened unless and until Gibbs' death. Since Gibbs was going to live forever, it hadn't seemed necessary to discuss it; Tony had simply tucked it away in a drawer in his apartment for safekeeping. He'd been holding on to it ever since.

Tony hadn't realized the rules had reached the 50s, and he found himself wondering what 50 and 51 were all about. He wondered if they were actually written down somewhere, and if so, whether he might come across them once he started cleaning out the house. He shuddered. He'd always been a snoop, loved going through other people's things at a crime scene, and goodness, when Gibbs had been alive he would've given his eyeteeth for a chance to dig through the boss' house. Now, though, the prospect brought only dread. As did the prospect of reading this letter.

"Well, boss...I never really believed this day would come, y'know? I guess I kinda thought you were immortal. I'm not really ready for this. But the longer I wait, the harder it's gonna be. So..."

He pulled the hand-written letter gingerly out of the envelope. It was longer than he would have expected, given how few words the boss had typically used in life. Gibbs had remarkably legible and elegant handwriting; it occurred to Tony that back in the days when the boss had been in school, much more attention had been paid to such things. _Stop stalling, Anthony._

'_Tony:_

_If you're reading this, I'd better be dead, or you will be._

_I know you. Right about now, you're thinking of leaving. You're thinking this is your fault. You're thinking you let the team down. You're thinking you let ME down. _

_Give your head a slap.'_

Without thinking, Tony did so.

'_When I first met you up in Baltimore, I knew I wanted you for my team. But you lacked maturity. That was something I figured I could teach you. God knows, it wasn't easy, but by the time I left for Mexico, I knew you were ready to take the lead. I never gave it another thought after I walked out that door. _

_Jenny said I should've told you that. And maybe I should have. (No, DiNozzo, this is NOT an apology). But the point is, you ARE ready. And this team needs you. Doesn't matter if it's still Ziva and Tim, or a different bunch now. As I once told your father, you're the best young agent I've ever worked with. (Probably should've told you that too. Would have, if I didn't think you'd let it go to your head.)_

_Don't walk away. This is what I trained you for. Remember, Boy, I got vision...'_

Tony suddenly realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush, and shook himself, wiping his eyes. He sat back on the stool and let the words sink in. How did Gibbs know Vance would offer him the team? Rhetorical question; Gibbs always knew everything. What was Rule 52? He was still none the wiser. Did it matter? Perhaps not. The only thing that DID matter was that Gibbs believed in him. In truth, Tony had always known it, but it was reassuring to finally have proof.

"Tony?" He jumped around with a start at the familiar voice, and glanced up at the staircase landing.

"McGee. What're you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question. We went to your apartment, and when we didn't get any answer, Ziva picked the lock." Tony frowned. Tim quickly added, "We wanted to make sure you were ok."

"You broke into my apartment." Why wasn't he surprised?

"Uh, yeah." Tim started down the stairs.

"What did you think, Probie, that I'd offed myself?" Tony stood, tucking the letter back into the inside pocket of his jacket. Tim scowled. The SFA's expression softened then. "So where IS Zee-vah?"

"I am here, Tony." She appeared in the doorway just then. "We were worried."

"So I hear. No need. I'm ok." He glanced around wistfully. "Just...not looking forward to emptying all this out." They regarded him quizzically, and he explained Jackson's request that he take over as executor of Gibbs' estate.

"We will do it together, Tony. It is not fair to ask you to handle all of this yourself. Perhaps it will help us say goodbye." Ziva touched his arm softly and smiled.

Wow. He hadn't expected that. But he'd take it. He smiled back at her. Maybe Gibbs was right – maybe they did need him. But he needed them too, more than he usually was willing to admit, even to himself. And maybe they'd be ok after all.

"Dr. Cranston suggested we burn the boat. After all, the boss burned all the others except the Kelly. Not sure anyone would want a half-finished boat, anyway. And besides, it might help us get past..._that_." Tim motioned to the blood spatter on the hull.

"Great idea, Probie. Just one problem..." McGee looked at Tony expectantly. "That would require figuring out how the heck Gibbs got those other boats out of this here basement, now wouldn't it?" Tony and Ziva made eye contact, and seconds later McGee was the recipient of a double head-slap.

TBC


	8. Vance2

**A/N: Almost there, folks...I'm posting this one and the finale back to back, so read on...**

* * *

**VANCE**

Leon Vance set a file aside and stood as Dr. Rachel Cranston entered his office. The moment of truth had arrived.

"Dr. Cranston. Is my team in trouble?"

"You don't waste any time, do you, Director?" she smiled.

He rounded his desk, and motioned to his private conference table. They sat, but to his surprise, she did not pull out any notes. He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"To answer your question...no, I don't believe they are. The behaviours they're exhibiting are quite normal and expected after such a traumatic loss. I would recommend at least another week of leave after the funeral before you bring them back onto rotation, though. Gibbs was larger-than-life to these people – a father-figure – and they were together a long time. In a very real sense, they've been orphaned."

"What about DiNozzo?" Vance queried. "Am I going to have to hunt for a new team leader?"

Cranston shook her head. "Not sure. He seemed adamant when I spoke with him that he didn't want that responsibility. But Agents David and McGee seem to be ready to follow his lead. Tony needs more time. If I were you, I would extend your deadline by another week or so – he won't necessarily make the right decision if he feels pressured. I've planted some seeds. We should wait and see how things play out over the next while."

Vance chewed vigorously on his toothpick. He didn't like having things sit in limbo like this; on the other hand, instinct told him the MCRT would do best if it remained intact. Anything he could do to improve the odds of that happening would be worth it in the long run. Patience didn't come naturally to him, but it was a virtue he'd learned to cultivate along the journey to the big chair he now occupied.

He pushed away from the table and stood, extending his hand to her. "All right. Thank you, Doctor. As always, I appreciate your insights."

She hesitated. "I haven't yet had the chance to discuss the impact this has had on you personally, Director."

Vance grinned, reaching for the door. "And you won't. I'm the one who brought you in this time, remember Doctor?"

"Fair enough," she nodded, finally shaking his hand. She turned in the doorway. "You have my number. Call me when you're ready."

TBC


	9. Epilogue

**A/N: And so, we come to the end...thanks to everyone for your kind comments and thoughtful insights. **

**I'm really quite torn about Tony's situation on the show...he's suffering a bit from Commander Riker Syndrome (for the non-Trekkers, this means he's been second in command for longer than would generally be considered normal or healthy). It's time for him to move on. But the only way it would seem that could happen on the show is if (a) Gibbs retires (we saw how well that worked the first time), (b) Gibbs dies (doubtful, unless Mark Harmon has a falling-out with one of the show-runners), or (c) Gibbs gets promoted (and he's already told Vance he'd never even consider the job). And so, it would seem, we are stuck, except in the wonderful world of fanfic. So until the day the show is cancelled, I guess we just have to use our admittedly vivid imaginations, and keep writing and reading fics like this one. :D**

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

Two weeks later, on a remote stretch of beach, flames leapt up into a starless night sky, illuminating the faces of dozens of friends and family who'd gathered to witness the ceremonial burning of Gibbs' final work in progress, 'The Jenny'.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been laid to rest ten days earlier in a small cemetery in Stillwater, next to his wife and daughter. The house in DC was up for sale, having been emptied of most of its contents with the help of the team, including Abby, Ducky, Jimmy and Breena. With Tony's permission, each had taken a small keepsake from the house by which to remember their fallen leader. Tony was especially thrilled with his treasure: a box he'd come across in what had at one time been Gibbs and Shannon's bedroom...

_He sat on the bed and gently lifted out the stack of cards, wrapped in an elastic band. The top one looked new. He pulled it out and unfolded it. __**Rule 52: Don't hold back. **__Tony took the words to heart, and vowed always to remember to express his appreciation for his team. They were, after all, family._

Abby clung to Tony's side, wiggling her bare toes in the sand. "Gibbs would've really liked this, Tony. What a great idea!"

"Uh, it was actually my idea, Abbs," pointed out McGee.

"Actually it was Dr. Cranston's idea," Tony corrected, acknowledging her with a nod and a smile.

She returned the grin. "So tell me, Agent DiNozzo. You obviously figured out Gibbs' secret...how DID you end up getting the boat out of that basement?"

Tony pursed his lips and took on an inscrutable expression. "I'd tell you, Doc. But then I'd have to kill you."

**THE END**


End file.
